Rhiannon
by BlackTrademark
Summary: Takes place after the original book. (I'm horrible at summaries XD)
1. Chapter 1

So I have no idea what this is going to be...XD at all. I have an OC in this, because I didn't want to use too many of the original characters *gets hit with bricks*. But anyways.

The bells circling Rhiannon's fetlocks jingled sharply as he powered over another jump, hooves leaving half-moon divits in the glittering sand. The _Capaill Uisce_ stallion landed hard from the obstacle, jarring my spine as he powered onwards, resisting any attempt I made to collect his stride in-between thefences. As we approached the next jump, I sacrificed equitation for safety, sitting heavily on his back. Yet despite my efforts, he began to build the last three strides to the oxar, powering off the ground a few steps early. Frustration held me back in my seat, stiff arms offering no release as he plowed onwards, the iron curve of the segunda bit pinching his tongue sharply. His heavy rhythm faltered as offended, he snapped his head into the air as he felt me in his mouth.

I noticed Weston across the arena, leaning on a fenceboard. Watching.

I pretended to ignore him, bending the stallion around my inside leg as he headed for the diagonal line. An oxar as the first fence, the out a single white striped pole with piles of shattered beach glass underneath. Part of me wondered if Weston had dumped the glass there on purpose, daring me to misstep and risk injuring the stallion.

Rihannon was more aware of me now, poking his nose forward in a halfhearted attempt to loosen the reins. His ears flattened as he felt my response. He finally found the right distance, however. The last three strides came easily, smooth and even like the rolling of the ocean tide he so loved. He tucked his head between his knees, eying the glass as he cleared the first pole. The out jump, however, was not so easy. He swerved suddenly, turning his head towards the right.

Towards the sea.

I shoved him over with my leg, pulling my right rein up as I felt him trying to overpower me. I had no doubt he could easily clear the arena's outside fence, compelled by the song of the sea. And we would both disappear into swirling blue and marbled foam that soon after would become mixed with crimson. The whites of his eyes disappeared as I regained his concentration, pricked ears returning to their natural flattened state. His head righted, snaking neck straightened once more. Just in time for the last oxar. Weston had hiked it up to 3'3", forcing the stallion into a tight, hurried distance. His back cracked underneath me, jumping me out of the tack. He landed bucking, as offended by the distance as I was.

I could hear Weston laughing from the opposite direction, accompanied by a few others. Buyers, most likely. I slowed Rhiannon to a jigging walk, pushing him over heavily as he gravitated towards the sea once more. I risked a look over my shoulder.

Weston stood, crisp and fresh in a business suit, talking to a group of four. Two men, one in dark pants and mud splattered boots, the other in pristine slacks and black leather shoes. The second was definitely American, though there was something familiar about the first. A woman stood beside the nicely dressed man, a dress the color of seafoam waving like a flag in the wind. A little boy held her hand, absentmindedly looking towards Rhiannon, watching the palomino stallion prance in the moist sand. I alternated tightening the fingers of each hand, gloves gripping the braided leather of the stallion's bridle. He was too excited to respond to light provocation. I tugged more heavily on each rein, until his head became lateral, parallel with the white jump standards. Weston had stopped talking, motioning to me.

Sliding off of Rhiannon, I held his reins just below the bit, hand resting under his chin. I watched as he became more predatory, eyes changing, head slowly stretching outwards as he eyed the little boy.

I traced the veins in his neck, running a stray finger over his withers to calm him; diverting attention from potential prey. "No one will die today because of you," I hissed into his ear. He stamped a foot, the jingle of bells ringing through the silence. Yet I did not trust bells to save any of our lives, and my hands tightened on the leather.

Weston turned to the buyers and smiled that smile, more a predatory flash of teeth than a smile, but a smile nonetheless. "This is Diane. She's been selectively working with this one for a few years now." The man and his wife smiled at me, the little boy waving, still looking at Rhiannon. Rhiannon looked back.

"He's got a great record, and he'll clear anything in front of him." Weston picked at his teeth, pretending not to be interested. "You came for a jumper. We've showed you the best we've got." The American nodded, white polo shirt tugged sideways by the wind. He rubbed his chin, staring at Rhiannon through narrowed eyes.

"What are we talking about pricewise?" He asked, accent thickening the words.

Weston threw an arm over the other man's shoulder, turning him away and walking back towards the main barn. I bit my lip, the familiar shattering sensation flooding my body once more. I knew he would sell Rhiannon eventually, yet I didn't think it would happen this soon. Anger sparked in my mind at the motions we went through; one more water horse caught by me, one more trained by me, and one more sold by Weston. Rhiannon stilled as my hand twitched, exposing a small bit of skin uncovered by my glove. It pressed to his neck, the feel of his magic soaking my arm, turning my eye with his towards the sea.

"Horsey!"

The little boy had broken free from his mother, running towards Rhiannon now, arms outstretched.

"No, stay away from him!" My warning was too late.

The extension of the golden, snakelike neck, muscle coiled.

_Predatory_.

He ripped the reins from my loosened fingers and lunged, lips peeled back from flattened teeth, black eyes beyond recognition. The woman's scream accompanied the sound of popping flesh, the shrill yell of the boy cut off as Rhiannon tore through bone. I dove away from his massive forelegs as he reared, churning the air with bloodstained hooves. He ripped the body in half, holding one part down with as he locked his jaws and turned his head from side to side, ripping in an un-horse-like motion. Scrabbling across the arena sand I reached for his reins.

Someone body slammed me out of the way. Weston, clutching the familiar matte red of holly berries. He reached upwards, grabbing the stallion's bridle by the bit, pulling Rhiannon's head towards him. Stringy tentacles of organ and shirt cloth were trapped in the stallion's mouth, caught in the iron of the segunda, slapping Weston's leg as he rammed the berries into Rhiannon's flared nostril. The stallion's back end went down first, golden head rising into the air as his front legs slipped out from under him. He let out a keening wail, low moan mixing with the sound of the wind. Black eyes rolled back, great head falling sideways as he stilled, legs still churning in feeble attempts to rise to his feet.

The woman's hysterical screams became muffled as she pressed her head into her husband's shoulder. Weston now tried to console them, apologising, blaming the scene on the dead stallion as he turned them away from the body of the water horse and the red smear in the arena sand that had been their son. I felt eyes on me, however, and turned to look. The other man who had accompanied the family, now stood at the edge of the arena. Something about his face seemed similar, all sharp planes with a narrow nose, dark hair and eyebrows. He glanced at Rhiannon's body, eyebrows drawn together over the bridge of his nose. I knew that look. It was haunted, dark eyes forming Rhiannon's body into that of another horse, one he had seen in the past.

One he had killed, maybe.

_Killed_.

I looked at Rhiannon's body. The stallion had not heeded my warning; someone had died today.


	2. Chapter 2

-Sean's POV-

The palomino's death today brought me back.

Back to when the idea of a woman in the Scorpio Races was absurd. Back when I had first met Puck. Back when Corr could still run like he used to. He is tamer than most of them, though nature sometimes calls him back. I do not stop him when he turns his head towards the sea. It sings to him, but he will never leave me.

He likes it on my father's land, away from the Malvern Yard, though Benjamin seems to have been closer to reality now that his son is gone. I can't say that I don't miss working there; I always hear the comforting sounds of the grazing broodmares when I head down to the beach with Puck. It calls to me as the sea calls to Corr.

Yet what happened today reminds me of why I left. Weston mirrors Malvern in his own ways, a strong, established horseman with a fancy barn who makes quite a bit of money. And the girl reminds me of Puck; a horse-loving girl riding horses on a horse-loving island. But that stops making sense as soon as one of the animals you love is murdered at the fault of a careless mother and an oblivious five year old.

It begins to rain as I walk up the gravel pathway to the back entrance of Weston's main barn. He has three, one for his prized warmblood stallions, one for his broodmares, and one for his _capaill uisce_ that looks more like a prison than a barn. It's iron wrought, mahogany inlaid and a deadly kind of beautiful; much like the animals it holds.

I step inside the back door and manage three steps before running into Weston.

"Kendrick," he says, slapping a hand on my shoulder. "We're heading down to the beach. I need to replace that _capaill_ I lost today."

He says it so nonchalantly that it sounds as he's asking to go for a pleasant walk in the garden.

"I thought we could use an expert on our side," he says, angling himself so that he's smiling in my face. "So, Mr. Kendrick, can you accompany us or not?"

"I'd be happy to, sir."

"Great." He smiles and disappears through the door to the main barn.

I hope he is prepared to die.

Three hours later I am rain soaked, standing in what feels like a monsoon. The sea churns like a pot of boiling water, lightning arcing like a firework show. Each blazing crack of light illuminates the sea, massive waves crashing down on one another in a lulled, deadly dance.

Weston's thinning hair is turned brown by the downpour, the absence of the sun making it an even darker shade.

"I didn't think it would be this nasty out here!" He yells over the wind. His workers scurry around like ants, half scouting for the forms of _capaill_ in the distance, half trying to keep from being swept away in the fierce wind. The only one I can visibly recognize through the salt and rain is the girl. She runs up and down the beach, leather straps in her hand. She is eager. She wants to catch one.

I make out the dark, hulking shape of Weston's boat. It drags a net behind it, primarily used for fishing, by the looks of it. But this time I think it is being put to use for a different reason. Men wade out into the water, most not willing to go farther than waist deep. They are inexperienced, but not stupid. They close around the net in a semicircle, dragging it closer to the beach. Something inhuman is struggling beneath the waves, a flesh barrier separating it from the shore and the sea.

Men yell out commands, and more of them splash into the water. The girl waits on the shoreline. She paces back and forth, eyes trained on the struggling mass of water and men a small distance away from her. Leather dangles from her closed fist, ready to wrap around something and hold tight.

Suddenly a man goes flying through the air, sound of the impact lost to the shrieking wind. A mass emerges from the water, a glistening, four-legged creature. A wickedly thin snakelike head lashes out, teeth snapping with the crack of bone on bone. Another flash of lighting illuminates the depthless background of sea foam and churning clouds, and in that moment, I recognize her.

A mountain of black and white muscle, intent to murder present in her stance. The weapon of Mutt Malvern's destruction.

Weston's men have pulled Skata back from the hellish depths of the sea.


End file.
